


Troika

by deleiterious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Character Death, Divine Pulse (Fire Emblem), F/M, Gen, Poison, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious
Summary: Byleth finds Claude von Riegan dead on his eighteenth birthday, but she'll be damned if she lets it remain that way.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth & Claude von Riegan, My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 31
Kudos: 163





	Troika

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place pre-timeskip, before Sword of the Creator and before the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth. If you are looking for fluff, you should probably turn back now. Many thanks to @Iris_the_Messenger for beta-reading for me. <3

The day begins much like any other, the sun cresting over the monastery walls, shedding its golden light across the ancient stones. The walk to the student dormitory is short, but unusually quiet. Byleth's heeled boots clip down the hall towards Claude's room. When she turns the corner, Byleth comes to an abrupt stop.

Multiple monastery guards are posted outside his room. When they sense her presence, they nod at her, expressions solemn in pale faces. White as a sheet and sagging against the dormitory wall, stands Lorenz. Byleth opens her mouth to demand the meaning of this when Manuela steps out of Claude's room. Her hands are covered in blood. Byleth drops the tin of Almyran pine needle tea, scattering withered leaves across the floor.

"Professor?" Manuela's voice is uncharacteristically thin, her brown eyes hollow with unspoken grief. Byleth stops breathing when those eyes flick into the room and then lower to the ground. Manuela slowly shakes her head.

Byleth runs into the room. Behind her, Manuela bursts into muffled tears, covering her face with bloodstained hands. Claude lies on his bed, with a dagger in his heart. His green eyes are open and unseeing, dulled from death. Blood pools beneath his body, dyeing upended books and crumpled parchments crimson. A dark, mottled bruise curves across his throat like a necklace. His fingers are curled around the serrated edge of the dagger, the skin of his right hand sliced open and weeping across his bed clothes. The other hand hangs lifelessly off the lip of the bed.

Byleth staggers back in shock.

_Oh, child. Who could have done this to you?_ Sothis' soft voice says mournfully.

Behind her, the guards exchange words with Manuela. Their voices thrum uselessly against Byleth's skull as she stares at the unmoving corpse of her own student.

"The door was locked from the inside."

"--must have happened during a patrol shift change."

"Looks like there was a struggle--"

Byleth's attention catches on a single word. Assassination.

_They killed a child. A child._

A spark of rage and revulsion ignites in her veins, bringing her blood to a boil. Byleth screws her eyes shut against the nightmare in the room. With fury and desperation, she pulls on the threads of time, yanking them until they nearly snap.

Byleth finds Claude von Riegan dead on his eighteenth birthday, but she'll be damned if she lets it remain that way.

Time warps around Byleth, moments spilling into minutes. Byleth wills it further, and the hours turn into days. She cannot breathe, blood roaring in her ears as she moves the world through her fingers.

Sothis' voice cuts through the vacuum, rising in fear. _Foolish child! Stop! You will kill yourself--_

"Your move, Teach."

Byleth's starved lungs gasp for breath. Her eyes flutter open, and she reflexively reaches out for something to hold onto to prevent her from pitching forward to the floor. Bile struggles up her throat, and she forces it down. Her eyesight is hazy through her throbbing headache. The room she sits in is familiar.

"Teach?" A note of concern. She recognizes that voice now. "Are you okay?"

"Claude," she whispers.

Claude stares at her, one elegant brow curved up in confusion. He gestures weakly to his nose, although he is clearly referring to hers. "You're...bleeding."

_He's alive._

Byleth's hand instinctively reaches up to his face, to ensure that the vision in front of her is real. With a flash of panic in his eyes, Claude applies a wristlock meant to disarm close-range assailants with dangerous ease. The board game between them flips off the table, game pieces flying across the rug. A jolt of pain snakes up her arm. Byleth rotates, effortlessly breaking out of his technique. Beneath her boot, one of the pieces (a queen) snaps.

"What are you doing?" Claude's voice comes out angry, then scared and confused. He looks poised to fight, or perhaps, flee.

Byleth cradles her dominant hand to her chest, rendered speechless by his reaction. Lightning fast, practiced over many years. At seventeen, she can't help but think that Claude is just a child, too young to be good at something like this.

_He probably used that move on his killer too,_ Byleth realizes bleakly. Her eyes lower to his hand, and suddenly all she can see is Claude's lifeless hand dangling off the edge of his bed.

"I apologize," she says finally. The words feel heavy, dropping like stones out of her mouth. When she speaks, she can taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. She swipes at her nose, and a streak of red appears on her palm. Now, the memories come back. She remembers this day, three days before he dies. They had played a board game together, at his insistence, and Claude used an underhanded maneuver to clinch victory. Byleth has just spilled that same game all over his room. "I thought I saw an insect...on you."

Claude's eyebrows knit together in disbelief. Despite his obvious skepticism, he swipes at his hair, but does not take his eyes off her.

"I think it's gone," she says, averting her eyes.

"Was this some grand ploy not to lose to me?" he quips, his voice disguising the cold edge of suspicion. He must know she does not plan to answer. Claude kneels down to the rug, collecting the scattered pieces and setting them back on the board. He inspects the cracked queen between his fingers before setting it on the board. Byleth watches as he quickly repositions them in what must have been their exact places. Something akin to pride warms the cavity where her beating heart should be. His memory is impeccable. "Do you want to see Professor Manuela about that?" He gestures to the blood on her palm.

"It's nothing."

Sothis clears her throat threateningly, but Byleth ignores it.

Claude sighs, settling back in his chair. "If you say so, Teach." He watches her warily as her eyes roam his room. The room is in a state of controlled disorder: books stacked on every available surface, parchments on the floor, maps sprawled across his bed sheets. Bottles of unlabelled substances line the back shelf.

Byleth remembers the blade plunged to the hilt in his chest. Alliance-make. _Were any of those bottles disturbed when he died? Was the window open?_

_Perhaps you would know,_ retorts Sothis, _had you not been so impatient to save the boy._

Claude slides a piece across the board. The corner of Byleth's lips lift into something of a smile. She remembers this ruse. She plays her hand differently this time. Claude's eyes narrow as he thinks. Byleth continues to scan the room now that his attention has returned to the game. Nothing looks out of place. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, Claude moves again.

"Nice try," she says. Byleth pins him between two of her units on the board, effectively ending the game.

"I thought for sure you'd fall for that gambit," he says, eyes carefully assessing her expression.

She doesn't tell him that she already has.

* * *

Byleth sighs deeply, trying to lose her tail in the bustle of the monastery marketplace. She can feel his piercing green eyes follow her to the bladesmith. She produces a wrapped bundle and the vendor releases a low whistle at the state of the splintered axes and blunted swords in her possession, courtesy of her overzealous students during practice combat. Byleth engages them in an overly long conversation, until she senses Claude disappear out of boredom from the marketplace.

"I can take care of these for you. Please come by in three days time to pick them up."

Dread materializes in the pit of her stomach. Byleth has three days to find Claude's killer before they find him. She hands the bladesmith a small fortune of gil, straight from her professor's stipend.

"Do you happen to carry any Alliance-make daggers?" she asks.

The vendor looks surprised at her question. "We have a limited selection of daggers." They gesture to the back wall of the tent, where daggers of various sizes catch the light. "None specifically from the Alliance, I'm afraid." None of them possess the teeth she remembers on that blood-soaked blade. She thanks them and decides to move on.

As she makes her way to the tea merchant, Byleth searches the bazaar for someone who does not belong, someone who could be hired to kill the heir to the Alliance. Unfortunately for her, there are many mercenaries and soldiers who could fit the description. For once, she wishes she were Shamir, or someone with her skills in detection and reconnaissance. When she reaches the tea merchant, they are engaged in a vigorous debate with a customer on the merits of Dadga Fruit Blend versus Almyran Pine Needle tea. Byleth waits patiently behind the woman speaking. Her voice is melodic, with a trace of an eastern accent.

Eventually, the tea merchant spots her standing behind his current customer and brightens. "Oh, hello there, Professor! I'll be right with you." Moments later, the woman apologizes for holding up the line as she carries her tin of Dadga Fruit Blend away.

"So what will it be today?"

Byleth remembers everything about this visit to the marketplace, everything from previous customer's choice to the clothes the merchant is wearing.

"Almyran Pine Needle, please," she says.

He nods dutifully. "Fine taste you have, Professor."

"It's a gift," she finds herself saying with some fondness.

"Oh, in that case," the merchant wraps the tin in a bright golden bow, "I sincerely hope your special someone enjoys the tea."

_Is it not most interesting how a single remark like that can change the flow of time?_ Sothis says airily, admiring the new ribbon.

\---

Byleth decides to shadow Claude. She can think of no other way to weed out his assassin except to do as they might, and spend every spare moment watching him. Unfortunately, it is much harder said than done. Following on foot is nigh impossible. Despite her stony-faced demeanor, Byleth does not have a talent for hiding in plain sight. Claude flits around the monastery like a bee, collecting information like pollen from anyone foolish enough to open up to him. In the late afternoon, Claude returns to his room.

From her uncomfortable perch atop a tree that overlooks Claude's dorm room windows, Byleth watches as Claude locks the door behind him and scans the room and floor. Eventually, he relaxes, shucking off his Academy-issue boots and flopping unceremoniously onto his unmade bed. He picks up a dog-eared book and begins to page through it, scrawling notes into the margins. Dimly, Byleth hopes that book is not from the monastery library.

As the sun fully disappears behind the monastery walls, Claude gets up and lights a candle on his desk. He then sits cross-legged on the floor, setting out the game they played together this morning. He places the pieces from memory. Spine curved over the board, she watches as Claude cocks his head, his lips moving in unfamiliar shapes, pushing the pieces around as he pits himself against her specter.

With nothing going on inside the room, Byleth's eyes search the grounds beneath her. Students mill about, gossiping. Monks walk in pairs from the church to the library. Eventually, the dinner bell tolls, the noise cutting through the din of noise below. Claude jumps from the floor, shoving his feet into his boots as he hurries to the door. Before he closes the door behind him, she spies him slip a piece of paper into the door jamb.

_Curious,_ says Sothis. _Are all the lordlings like this?_

Byleth's jaw tightens at the implications. Claude does not feel safe in his room. The paper trick: it is clearly not a newly formed habit.

Byleth readies herself to descend from the tree when a figure appears at the edge of her vision. She holds her breath, freezing in place. They are dressed like any other traveler in an unremarkable brown cloak. They walk quietly and slowly along the wall below the student dormitory. Then, they lift their head, looking straight up at Claude's windows. Byleth feels her blood run to ice. She palms the scabbard hanging from her hips.

_This could be nothing, or this could be everything._

Byleth leaps noiselessly off the branch, muting her fall. Suddenly, the figure jerks their head in her direction. Hidden behind the brush, Byleth tenses, hoping the mysterious figure's attention is drawn elsewhere. Instead, they break off into a run. Byleth shoots out of the brush, but it is too late. They have disappeared.

Of one thing she is certain. Claude doesn't have to worry about someone breaking in through the door.

* * *

Leonie pushes her writing quill absently across the desk. Ignatz surreptitiously sketches the view beyond the classroom window. The only student still listening with rapt attention is Lysithea, scrawling notes quickly across fresh paper.

Byleth shuffles her lecture notes, rubbing her temple in irritation. The last place she wants to be is here, wasting Claude's precious last days on some insipid presentation about certification exams. When she glances up, Claude is already watching her, picking up on her vexation and storing the information in that enigmatic mind of his. Byleth lets her expression go carefully blank. She clears her throat, and most of her students jerk to attention.

Ignatz slams his sketchbook shut so quickly that he knocks over an inkwell, sending black ink splashing across Lorenz's Academy uniform. Lorenz leaps from his seat, aghast and spluttering about the indecency of having his outfit soiled. Ignatz apologizes profusely, attempting to undo his cravat to mop at the stain despite Lorenz's indignant protests of impropriety.

Byleth's eyes narrow. "That's enough."

The boys blanch at her icy tone, and immediately seat themselves. Lorenz produces a handkerchief and meekly dabs at the stain on his jacket. Byleth stacks her notes neatly on the podium. "It has become abundantly clear to me," she begins firmly, "that today's classroom instruction is not connecting with any of you." Lysithea starts to balk in protest, but Byleth continues. "Meet me at the training grounds in ten minutes. You are all dismissed."

Hilda's eyes go comically round and she exchanges glances with a nervous-looking Marianne. Her students mutely gather their belongings and slip out of the room. Outside, she hears Ignatz renew his apologies to Lorenz. Claude tosses a side-long glance at her before he disappears outside.

When she reaches the training yard, Byleth tosses her cloak to the floor and picks up one of the iron practice swords. Leonie and Raphael exchange anxious glances. She swings the sword experimentally, testing its heft, before she steps into the middle of the yard. "We will be practicing close-quarters combat this afternoon. One on one. Swords only. This will be an opportunity for many of you to test your strength...or weakness."

A strangled sound gutters out of Lysithea's throat, and she shoots a poisonous glare at Ignatz and Lorenz. Marianne pales, hands twisting into her skirt.

"Um, Professor," begins Hilda gingerly, "couldn't we use the wooden training swords? For some of us, this will be our first time really handling a sword." Hilda looks meaningfully over at the mages.

Byleth pretends to contemplate it, but she knows what she needs to show them today. It's not softness. She shakes her head, and Marianne turns a faint shade of green. She gestures at Leonie first, only because she knows the girl will not complain. Leonie picks up a sword, and nods at Byleth. Byleth spends the hours drilling the weaknesses out of her students, taking care not to spill a drop of blood. None of them will beat her; she does not expect them to.

She leaves Claude for last.

_Oh,_ laughs Sothis, _so that is what this is all about._

The rest of the students sit or slump on the side-lines, winded and embarrassed by their ineptitude. She expects they will most certainly pay attention to their next lecture.

"Are you ready?" she asks as Claude elegantly lifts the blade to face her. From his stance, she can tell he's had formal training, yet he rarely strays from the bow.

He smirks. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Byleth whirls into action, her blade cutting through air. Claude staggers back at the onslaught, surprise flashing across his eyes. Behind her, the remainder of the Golden Deer straighten up and gawk at their professor's sudden ferocity. Byleth presses him into a corner, and it's all Claude can do to parry her endless blows. It is clear that the weight of a sword slows him down considerably.

"Fight, Claude," she says.

Claude grits his teeth, the two warring emotions of confusion and frustration in his eyes. Perhaps he means to ask her why she's doing this.

She senses a subtle shift in his body language. Claude sweeps his leg out. Byleth nimbly side-steps it, but does not prepare fast enough for the cloud of dust he kicks into her face. It gives him enough space to pull away from the corner. Byleth's eyes sting from the sand, but she does not blink. Claude looks past her for a moment, and she makes the mistake of following his gaze. As soon as her attention shifts away from him, Claude dances to her side, swinging just below her guard. Iron crashes into iron. She deflects, then swipes down at his leg. Claude jumps back, but it turns into a stumble, giving her the opening she wishes she didn't have.

Byleth sends Claude's sword spinning across the floor and sweeps his legs out from under him. He falls hard on his back. Byleth presses the tip of her blade to his throat. She recognizes terror in those dark green eyes; a blink, and it's gone. She retracts the sword, and the corners of his mouth pull into a tight, bitter smile.

"Impressive, Teach." His chest rises and falls, reminding her of the beating heart within.

Byleth blinks the disappointment out of her eyes.

_He is but a child. You cannot turn him into a warrior overnight,_ Sothis berates her.

Byleth extends her hand, and he takes it. She lifts him to his feet, and he brushes himself off with a hollow laugh.

* * *

That evening, Byleth finds Lorenz seated at a table in the mess hall. When she sits across from him, Lorenz gives her a repentant look.

"Ah, Professor," he clears his throat, "my deepest and sincerest apologies for my disgraceful behavior in your class today. It was, without excuse, unseemly of me to disrupt your lecture over a minor gaffe."

"Apology accepted, Lorenz," Byleth replies, briskly digging into her meal.

Lorenz looks around at the near-empty table meaningfully. "Is there something you wish to speak with me about, Professor?"

Byleth wants to, but struggles with the wisdom of hinting to anything amiss. She may need Lorenz's help to protect Claude, although she does not yet know what form that will take. She knows that it was likely Lorenz who found Claude's corpse. If there had been a struggle in the room, Lorenz, himself a light sleeper, would have roused from slumber and demanded to know what was going on in the adjoining room. Before she can reply, Hilda sidles up next to them and interjects with a cheerful and contrived grin.

"Hello, Professor!" Hilda seats herself and begins to play with her food, swirling her fork mindlessly through the noodles on her plate. "So, I meant to ask, what _was_ that today?"

"I beg your pardon, Hilda?" Byleth responds evenly.

Hilda gestures over her shoulder to Claude, who is sitting alone a few tables over. She lowers her voice. "You really laid into him today." Lorenz's eyes flick back to his meal, clearing his throat delicately, which Hilda ignores. Byleth spears a roasted vegetable between the prongs of her fork, unsure of what to say. "Look, I know Claude can be annoying sometimes, but he means well," Hilda offers a weak smile, "and he's not a bad house leader either."

Over Hilda's shoulder, Byleth watches a man she doesn't recognize approach Claude, and all her senses go on high alert. The man is tall, about her father's age, with facial scars and a grizzled beard on prominent display. She can tell instantly that he is a mercenary, or perhaps, was one. What truly baffles her, is that Claude does not seem surprised to see him. Instead, he gestures to the seat across from him, inviting him to join him for supper. They chat animatedly. Claude occasionally leans in to share something, and they both break into chuckles.

"Have you two seen that man around here before?"

Lorenz merely shakes his head in obvious distaste.

"Oh, him? I saw him talking to Claude yesterday," Hilda replies thoughtfully, missing the way Byleth's knuckles go white.

Claude catches her eye from across the mess hall; his lips lift into a knowing smile. The mercenary also turns, and when he sees Byleth, a flash of recognition appears on his face. Then, the mercenary smiles at her. Byleth feels her blood run cold.

* * *

Byleth practically paces a hole in her bedroom floor.

_Oh, why not simply ask that clever boy who that strange man is?_ Sothis grumbles.

_I can't._

_And why not?_ sniffs Sothis imperiously.

_Because he doesn't trust me._

Claude von Riegan may respect her, but that respect does not translate into trust. She thinks it must be that strange man. She tries to remember the height of the cloaked figure against the mercenary she saw, but the exact details elude her. But if not him, who else could it be? Again, Byleth feels that this kind of work is not suited to her. She decides she will simply need to find the stranger tomorrow and interrogate him.

Byleth rubs her eyes and heads out into the evening air, bracing herself for another long night of reconnaissance outside of Claude's room. When she reaches her perch, she peers into his room, which is awash with candlelight.

He lays on the floor in simple linen pajamas, one of the monastery cats curled at his side. He strokes it with a familiar sort of tenderness, his other hand holding a book open over his face. A ghost of a smile graces Byleth's lips, followed by a rotten bitterness at the thought that nights like these are numbered.

The hours pass, and Byleth feels the tug of sleep at her consciousness. Byleth dips a hand into her pockets and presses several coffee beans into her mouth, sucking on them silently. Overhead, an owl lands on her tree. She hopes it will not defecate on her. Inside, Claude gets up from the floor, stretching and yawning. The cat goes skittering beneath his bed, but Claude does not seem to mind. He goes to the window and peers out, precisely in her direction. Byleth's thighs squeeze around the bough as she holds her breath. Even with perfect vision, it would be impossible to detect her in this dense darkness, or so she thinks.

Claude idly scratches his belly, his shirt lifting just enough to afford her a glimpse of taut dark skin marred with large, puckered scars. Byleth's face goes stony, her eyes pinned to the gruesome cut of tissue in silent and stunned outrage. Even Sothis' ever-present murmurings still at the sight. Claude leans over the candle, and blows it out. Byleth stares into the darkened window for a long time, her thoughts twisting in helpless fury and grief. She feels sick, remembering the terror in his eyes as she towered over him, blade in hand. She recognizes that emotion she saw for what it is now: the terror of a survivor.

She waits until the dim morning glow reveals the outline of Claude's sleeping form and the rhythm of his breathing. Byleth slips from her post, disappearing into the twilight. All the bright stars falter and blink out at the return of the sun.

Claude has one more day left.

* * *

Byleth jolts from the bed, fear pounding through her veins. Her breathing comes in heavy, erratic gasps.

_Am I too late? What time is it?_

Byleth desperately rubs the sleep from her eyes, her hands trembling. Bright afternoon light streams through her window, warming the room to an almost unbearable temperature. She has allowed too much time to slip past. Byleth quickly gets dressed, trying to shake the last vestiges of a nightmare from her mind.

_You need to rest,_ Sothis reminds her.

_No time._

_You are fraying at the edges._

_Sothis! He could die at any moment. There is_ no _time._

Byleth storms from the room without bothering with her cloak. She is relieved to find Claude in the stables, dutifully tending to his assigned chores. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he carries a bucket of water in each hand. Water sloshes over the rims as he trudges slowly from the water pump to the individual horse troughs. When he spots her, his shoulders go rigid with tension. He sets the buckets down and turns to face her, arching an eyebrow.

"Hey, Teach." He looks her up and down, his neutral expression tinged with worry. There are bags beneath Byleth's dark blue eyes. Her hair is unkempt, her expression dark and gaunt.

Byleth blinks hard, trying to bury the image of his scars, his lifeless hand, and all that blood, from her mind. She feels like a bow string pulled too tight, about to snap. "Who is he?" Byleth asks.

Claude raises the other eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"The mercenary you've been speaking to."

To her surprise, mischief creeps into his eyes, like he's in on some inscrutable joke. A smile plays on his lips.

"Claude," she demands sharply. "Who is he?"

The smile falters, replaced by confusion. "Don't tell me you don't recognize him?"

Byleth shakes her head, perplexed.

"You don't recognize him," Claude says flatly.

Byleth doesn't sigh, but she makes a sound in the back of her throat like she wants to. "No."

"That was Henrik. He spent a short time in your father's band of mercenaries. Do you recall?" Claude relaxes enough to lean against Dorte's stable door. He cocks his head at her. "You were just a kid then. Maybe you were too young to remember."

_So the smiles...the looks…_

"Why were you with him? What does he want from you?"

Claude's signature smile creeps onto his lips. "He didn't want anything from me, not really. It was more what I wanted from him."

Byleth's eyes narrow. "And what did you want from him?"

"Information."

Byleth stiffens. "About my father?"

Claude laughs, raking a hand through his hair. "No."

"About me."

"Bingo." A dimple appears in one cheek as he breaks into a grin. "Embarrassing childhood stories and the like. Although to my disappointment, it sounds like you didn't have many."

_Oh, what a pair you two make,_ says Sothis.

With Claude says this, Byleth's suspicions about Henrik fissure and dissolve beneath her, leaving her grasping at what to do with limited time remaining and zero targets to pursue. She now has no other option but to lie in wait for the true assassin to make their attempt and count on her own agility to stop them.

* * *

Byleth returns to the marketplace one last time, to prepare herself. She purchases a long length of rope as well as a potent healing potion, disguising the purchases among other oddities she needs for the classroom. With the sun bearing down toward the horizon, Byleth briefly leaves the monastery grounds for some equipment she will not be able to find within its walls. She takes a horse, galloping down toward the nightlife district on the outskirts of town.

She dismounts when she reaches a squat, ramshackle tavern, sandwiched between two narrow alleys. The tavern's front door is open, with only a few patrons inside nursing beers at this hour. An idle barmaid sweeps dust out the front entrance, humming a simple tune. Byleth draws her cloak around her, pulling the hood low over her eyes lest she be recognized even this far from the monastery. She avoids eye contact with the curious barmaid and slips into the alley to the left of the bar. The narrow space reeks of spoiled food and aged vomit. Byleth briskly steps over a nest of rats and continues down the winding alley, until it reaches a dead-end, boxed in by several dysfunctional-looking buildings on every side.

Byleth ducks beneath a few precariously placed beams of wood and raps her knuckles against the door. From inside, she hears the knob turn, and the door scrapes against the floorboards as it opens inward. She presses it back, and steps inside the unmarked establishment, shutting the door closed behind her.

An elderly woman in spectacles peers down at her from the narrow counter. Colorful vials of liquid line the shelves behind her. There is barely enough space behind the door for a handful of patrons to stand by side. Luckily, at this hour, it is empty.

"What can I do for you, my dear?" says the owner of the tiny shop.

Byleth steps to the counter, letting her eyes skim across the many vials until she sees what she needs. She points to them. The woman's eyes follow her fingers. She gently takes them down, and sets them on the counter. She then bends to the side and pulls out a tray of sterile glass syringes. Byleth extends her pointer finger, and the woman nods in understanding.

She carefully wraps the two vials and the syringe together. Byleth produces her pouch of gil. Without words, the exchange is complete. Byleth leaves the shop with two vials: wyvern sedative, and gorgon venom.

Night has just fallen by the time she reaches the monastery. Students and faculty filter out of the mess hall in various states of satiation. Byleth does not spy Claude amongst them, so she hurries to the dormitories, taking the stairs two steps at a time. On her way there, she spies the Golden Deer students huddled around the fishing pond. Leonie holds up a spectacular shiny fish, so fresh that it squirms and gasps for breath.

"What did I tell you! It's all about the bait. Here, since it's your birthday tomorrow, you can keep the first one," she announces, shoving the live fish into Claude's arms. The fin smacks him in the face, and he nearly drops the creature back into the pond. The rest of his house roars with laughter.

"Hey!" shouts Claude, struggling to grip the writhing beast. "I don't want this!"

"Oh!" Lysithea jumps up excitedly. "Marianne and I will take it. We can take it to the kitchen and see if they'll cook up some sauteed fish."

"Show us again, Leonie!" exclaims Hilda. "That trick was so neat! I've never seen anything like it."

Byleth nearly stops, nearly joins them, but she shakes the thought loose from her head, and makes a beeline for her destination.

_Let them distract him for a while,_ she thinks, feeling strangely sentimental. She nimbly scales the tree as the light of the Blue Sea Star shines her path upward. She reaches a sturdy bough and swings her leg around it, adjusting the branches near her face to give her an unimpeded view at Claude's windows. Balanced on the branch, Byleth retrieves her dagger and pulls out one of the vials. She brings it to her eye, observing the eerie yellow liquid as it tilts within its glass prison.

Byleth carefully pops off the cork, and spreads the venom along her blade.

* * *

Well past midnight, the stray clouds in the sky begin to cross paths, obscuring the moon and stars. As shadows dance along the walls of the monastery, Byleth spies one shadow that moves like a streak of lightning. No doubt it's the same person who visited this place two nights prior.

_They are earlier than I expected._

The cloaked figure inspects the grounds cautiously, sifting through the circle of shrubbery at the base of her tree. Byleth holds herself so quietly that all she can hear is the wind through the leaves. The figure turns back toward the dormitory wall. They pull a corded climbing rope from beneath their cloak, and hurl it with remarkable strength at the gargoyle carved from stone above Claude's window.

_What are you waiting for!_ Sothis implores her. _They are going for the boy!_

_I am waiting for an opening,_ replies Byleth brusquely.

The knotted end of the rope catches around the sharp angles of the gargoyle. The figure tests the rope by tugging on it, before they kick off the wall and begin their ascent.

_Now._

Byleth rockets from the branch, rolling into safe landing. At the sound, the figure jerks back. Knowing she's been spotted, Byleth sprints toward the rope, intent on cutting them down before they can reach the lip of the window. To her horror, the figure kicks off hard from the wall and goes into aerial flip, landing neatly onto the ledge. They pull out a dagger, and she recognizes the teeth on its silhouette. The dagger that kills him. Byleth scrambles to the rope, heaving herself up with all her might. The figure looks torn, head turning from her to the window, where their mark lays sleeping.

They can cut the rope, or kill Claude.

_No!_

The figure treads along the ledge towards the nearest window. Byleth's arms burn in protest as she climbs, her hasty ascent scissoring her palms with rope burn.

_Hurry, child!_ pleads Sothis.

Byleth grits her teeth, using her thighs to push her upwards, ignoring the pain in her hands. By the time she reaches the same ledge, the figure has already pried open the window and slipped inside. Byleth clings to the stony cracks in the wall as she slides over to the window, hoping desperately she is not too late. Inside, she hears a muffled cry and the sound of two bodies crashing together.

Byleth jumps through the open window and whips out her dagger. Her eyes scan the room. A dagger with an exotic jeweled handle lays abandoned next to Claude's pillow. The assassin has Claude pinned against an armoire by the throat. Choking for breath, Claude claws at the assassin's wrists with both of his trembling hands.

"Claude!" Byleth yanks the dagger from the bed and throws it across the room. Alerted by the sound, the assassin lunges to the side and the dagger sinks into the wood. 

Claude sags to the floor, gasping and coughing. His expression alternates between betrayal and relief. She realizes he is uncertain if she is here as a friend or foe. The realization stings, but she does not dwell on it now.

"Arm yourself!" she yells, putting herself between him and the assassin. The assassin swipes first with their blade, missing Byleth, but follows with a series of kicks, one of which catches Byleth in the chest. Byleth staggers back, but digs her heels into the rug to keep her balance. Behind her, she hears Claude pull his dagger free. "Stay behind me," she says to him. She hears a nod.

To Claude, she looks like a storm unleashed. Her eyes are coals of dark blue fire. Her strokes slice through the air at dizzying speeds, missing the assassin by a hair. The assassin swipes upward, nicking her on the cheek. A trail of blood drips down her neck. Byleth goes for a leg sweep, but the assassin jumps to the side and goes into a roll. When they get back on their feet, the hood falls.

_The woman at the tea stall…_

Her opponent's eyes are dark and calculating. Inky black hair is bound in an unfamiliar style. In the dim moonlight, their skin shines a dark olive hue, remarkably similar to Claude's. The assassin's eyes slide to Claude behind her, and Byleth knows instantly that they do not plan to surrender. Byleth adjusts the grip on her dagger. She only needs one cut for the venom to begin paralyzing.

Without warning, the woman spins into a tucked aerial, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye. The flourish is meant to distract, and Byleth brings up her forearm in time to block a ferocious knife strike. Byleth slashes down, and the assassin stumbles back, clutching their side as blood seeps through their torn clothes. Those dark eyes go wide at the sudden sensation of numbness. With newfound desperation, they jerk towards Claude. Byleth tackles them to the floor, but they hold steady to their weapon. Quickly, Byleth pulls the sedative out of her pocket. The assassin twists beneath them and kicks the syringe out of Byleth’s hand with a cry. It shatters against the wall. Their foot goes down hard on her wrist. Byleth cries out, her dagger dropping from her hand as her fingers go slack.

The assassin does not wait for another opportunity. They lunge blade-first at Claude, their form sluggish and careless from the venom coursing through their veins.

"Claude, they're open! Do it now!" shouts Byleth.

Claude hesitates. He looks as if he is trapped in another time, somewhere far away, reliving his worst nightmare.

_Do something!_ cries Sothis.

Byleth lunges forward, catching the assassin around the legs and they both crash to the floor. The assassin's dagger clatters out of their fingers and Byleth smacks it away with her injured hand, a jolt of pain searing up her arm. With effort, Byleth staddles the assassin to the floor, her dagger pressed against the skin of their neck.

"Who do you work for?" Byleth growls. Breathing hard, the assassin's lips curl in contempt. They refuse to answer. Byleth presses into the skin, and a line of blood blossoms against the poisoned blade. "You don't have a choice."

The assassin laughs, cold and spiteful. "We always have a choice." They bite down hard on their own cheek, and Byleth startles as she feels their throat move beneath the knife, swallowing something. The assassin immediately begins to convulse beneath her. Byleth's lips part open in shock, looking to Claude.

At the sight of blood foaming past the assassin's lips, Claude seemingly comes to himself and lurches into action. He knocks various vials off the back shelf, muttering to himself as he searches for one in particular.

"Claude, hurry!" Byleth yells. Dark eyes begin to cloud over; a faint, triumphant smile graces their rapidly paling lips.

Claude falls to his knees beside her, holding a small bottle of syrupy dark liquid in his hands. He yanks the cork out with his teeth and brings it to the assassin's lips. "Tilt their head back," he instructs her.

The woman knocks the bottle clear out of Claude's hands, shattering it against the desk. They cough up blood between bubbles of cruel laughter. They use their last remaining breath to whisper something to him, something spoken in a foreign tongue. Then, Byleth feels the woman's body go still, hatred trapped in their eyes like a relic in amber. 

_What did they say that has the boy so shaken?_ Sothis asks.

Sothis’ voice draws Byleth’s attention to Claude. All color has drained from his face. His chest heaves for air like a drowning man in the middle of a sea storm. 

_Are those...tears?_ Byleth thinks numbly. Biting back a wince, Byleth gets to her feet and kneels in front of Claude, sparing him the sight of the body on his floor. 

“Claude, are you with me?” 

There is a tremble. He blinks at her with those enormous eyes, emeralds cut from deep in the earth. His breathing calms. “Teach,” he says plaintively. 

Byleth gently presses her forehead to his. His skin is feverishly hot. She carefully cups his cheek, feeling the tears beneath her thumb. She aches everywhere, but there is a specific ache in her chest that she cannot describe. She feels it all at once: exhaustion, relief, and pity. She has saved him.

In this small way, she has saved him.

But it is not enough. Byleth wonders if it ever will be.

* * *

_"I hope the gods kill you, demon-prince."_

_\- Last words of an Almyran assassin._

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I was impossibly surprised and moved by a fanart of this fic drawn by the lovely @berserkbrandee. I encourage you to check it out here: https://twitter.com/berserkbrandee/status/1281427785358049280


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